A Little Lestrade Christmas
by Fernside
Summary: Greg and Mycroft first offical Christmas together. Little stories leading up to the holiday period. Each chapter should make sense on it's own.
1. Chapter 1

Santa is coming to town.

"What are we going for Christmas?" Mycroft and Greg were having a lazy morning in bed. It wasn't often they got to stay in bed together with Greg reading and Mycroft continuing to work scanning the news of the world looking for hotspots.

Mycroft looking up from his laptop. "What would you like to do?"

"Not sure, we don't have to have Christmas on the 25th if it doesn't suit you. We can pick another date." Greg leaned over and picked up a note book and the pen he kept beside the bed. "Family, there are my kids, my parents and brothers. I will have to contact mum to find out if they expect us but it's at least two meals. What about you?"

"After last year I am unsure if my parents intend to risk a repeat. Mother talked about Christmas in either Nuremberg or Venice this year. Therefore no visit required this year. If you could phone my mother for dates, I will have Anthea make the bookings. John of course will attempt another party."

He made a quick note to himself to ring Mrs Holmes. "Talking about parties, I've got a lunch and a booze up after work. You will be invited to the booze up but you don't have to come."

"Mmm I have four parties and a few invites to drinks and nibbles. There will be an expectation for you to attend at least two of them as my plus one. Anthea will send you the dates to check your availability."

"Right," Greg made another note on his page. "Right, presents. You and me. John, Sherlock, and the baby. Your parents and mine. Two possible secret Santa's, does your work even do secret Santa?"

"Anthea will arrange a morning tea for the staff where I will make an appearance and then leave before any drinks commence. A gift is not required."

"What about Anthea do you give her a little something?"

Mycroft was surprised, "why, if she considers it necessary I'm sure she will charge it to my account and look surprised."

"Right, I'll put her on my side because she isn't my personal secretary." He scribbled on the page once more. "There's Edmund of course, what about your driver and housekeeper?"

"The house keeper receives a cheque and the driver is an employee."

"Right," he noted the list again with their names on his side then frowned as his list was getting a bit long and started thinking about the cost. Luckily the police ran a Christmas club in which he placed twelve pound each week. "You do know I expect more than a cheque as a present?"

"Mmmm, gift voucher then. I'll have Anthea arrange it shall I?"

"Bastard," muttered Greg. "We need a trip to the shops?"

"I feel a headache coming on."

Greg lightly punched him on the arm. "You will do your family duty and enjoy it. This will be a Lestrade Christmas not a Holmes one. Any non-participation will be punishable by a lack of sex for the holiday period. Now tree? Well," he added when Mycroft didn't reply.

"Oh you asked a question, I thought that was a statement."

"Do you want a Christmas tree or not, and before you say no, look deep into your Christmas soul for your inner child."

Mycroft was silent for a while. "It would be politically correct if I hosted an evening of drinks for people to meet you in a less formal social setting. The house would therefore need decorating in the festive sprit."

"So that is a yes to a tree?"

"Yes," confirmed Mycroft and made a note on his laptop.

"We could order extra food and I could take any leftovers into work. Great thinking," he jotted another note. "What about New Year? We could go away."

"Please God no. Anywhere you want to go will either snow or flood. Europe will be full of people escaping the snow or going skiing. Can't we lock the door and just read a book? At the very least we could book a hotel at Heathrow airport and feel smug watching all the people on TV stuck in the terminal due to bad weather. Didn't I promise you sex, lots of sex. Schedule that in, we only need a bed and food."

Greg wrote undecided against the New Year, with the word sex and a question mark. "Anything I've forgotten?"

"Christmas cards," said Mycroft.

"Right, are we doing Christmas cards this year?"

"No, and I consider Christmas emails as tacky."

"My parents will want one and so will yours."

"You will write any cards today then we will walk down and place them in the mail box together. If they are not completed by this time next week there will be no Christmas cards for anyone, understood."

"We need to go to the shop to buy some."

"What happened to last years?"

"I think you threw them out when Sherlock was arrested and you vowed Christmas was cancelled forever."

Mycroft rubbed his fingers over the bridge of his nose. "Remind me why we are doing this again?"

"Because this is a Lestrade Christmas and you love me."

"Add stamps to your list, lots of stamps if you don't want Anthea to post them. Also add carols, candles, church, the end of school pageant, cookies, a family argument, a murder and lots and lots of alcohol."

"Now you are just being silly."

"Trust me, I'm not."


	2. Christmas cards

They walked to the shops huddled in their coats with a scarf around their necks to protect their ears. The wind was brisk but the sun was trying to make a weak appearance.

"Your children, is there a budget I should adhere to?"

"They are my kids, you don't have to buy them presents. OK." Greg glanced at Mycroft who gave him a wounded look. "Ten pound, definitely no more than twenty quid each."

"So a helicopter ride over London is out."

Greg groaned not sure if Mycroft was kidding or not but not putting it past the man. "A gift voucher is fine. Just don't show up my ex, it's not polite at Christmas."

"Of course," said Mycroft deep in thought as they continued walking, looking in shop windows until they came to a toy shop. They walked in but quickly left due to the crowd and the department store was no better. A gust of warmth from the chemist's open door attracted Greg's attention so they went in to warm up their hands and have a quick look around. Mycroft ambled past the perfume test bottles, then stopped and sniffed. The hand lotions he rubbed between his fingers before he continued the circuit of the shop.

"Ready to leave," asked Greg when Mycroft returned to his side.

"One moment." Mycroft walked around the shop again this time picking up two bottles of scent and three of lavender scented hand lotion. He added a large beach towel to the bottles on the counter and handed over his card.

"Who are they for?" asked Greg unable to keep silent any longer.

"Parents," said Mycroft as he waited for the shop assistant to individually wrap each item.

"Your mother wants three bottles of the same hand lotion?"

"Of course, gardening is hard on the hands."

They found a stationary shop, walked in and headed for cards section. Greg stood and read the internal messages in each individual card, chuckling every so often.

"Are you ready yet?"

"I can't make up my mind, do you think I should buy this one or that one. Dad would like the one with the kitten but mum is kind of traditional. Or maybe this one," he held up four cards unable to choose. "We also need one for your parents."

Mycroft plucked the pile of cards out of his hand. "Yes," he said. "Excellent choices." He picked another five individual cards at random and added two multipacks of ten.

"You didn't even look at them and we agreed on two cards only."

"You can never have too many Christmas cards," said Mycroft. "There is always next year. Anything else?"

"No that's it." When he arrived at the counter Mycroft placed the cards on top of another pile and asked for stamps, booklets of stamps. "Who are they for?" Greg said indicating the two coffee mugs, fridge magnets, pens and post it notes the woman was sliding into a plastic bag.

"My father."

"I thought you were going to pay for their holiday?"

"I've found this year I have a budget restriction."

"You aren't going to tell me are you?"

Mycroft turned and smirked. "No."

"Git," muttered Greg and handed the lightest bag to Mycroft. "Want to walk around the block before heading back?"

They stopped at café and had pasta and hot chocolate for lunch before continuing on. Greg stopped outside a Red Cross second hand store and put his hand on the door.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "Is this a challenge Detective."

"Maybe," said Greg and pushed the door open. He walked around the room picking up objects and putting them down. Finally he returned to a glass bowl he had already discarded. He had no real need for a large glass salad bowl with a flower pattern but he hugged it to his chest anyway. It reminded him of home.

"What have you chosen?" Mycroft took the bowl and looked at it.

"It's stupid isn't it?"

"Can you afford it?" Greg nodded. "Then no, the money goes to help needy people. If you don't like the bowl in the New Year recycle it back. They always need qualify merchandise." Mycroft picked up another crystal looking bowl and after a quick check for chips dropped a large pile of yellow and blue hand knitted baby jackets, booties and hats inside.

"Don't tell me they are for your parents."

"Their cat," said Mycroft and walked over to the cabinet where the jewellery was kept. He selected two necklaces and indicated to the woman he wanted a closer look. "Which would you prefer?" He slid a cross and small light blue gem possibility sapphire across the counter closer to Greg who wished he had noticed the silver cross first.

"That one." Greg touched the cross and pushed them both back across the counter. Would it be rude to ask Mycroft to give it to him?

"Very well, and I'll have the music broach too." Mycroft paid for the jewellery and pushed the remaining items towards Greg after waving his change away.

Greg looked at his pile of two bowls and the baby items and handed across his card. He trusted Mycroft to know what he was doing. Once more they were in the outside sunshine and this time they headed home.

"We forgot the wrapping paper," said Greg as he placed the packages on the dining table.

"Of course we did. It wasn't on the list. I hope you don't intend on leaving the presents on the table?"

"No," lied Greg and picked up the packages once more and carried them into the kitchen with Mycroft following. "Tea?"

"I would have thought you had eaten enough already?" But Mycroft obediently picked up the jug and filled it with water while Greg emptied the bags and sorted the packages.

"You brought cables, why do you want cables?"

"It's a surprise."

Of course it was thought Greg as he poured the tea and added slices of cake. Mycroft found a box to put the gifts in which he placed in a cupboard until they had wrapping paper and a tree.

In the lounge Greg sipped a glass of port Mycroft had poured his attention fixed on the football repeat. He wasn't paying attention to the game. "It's going to be a good Christmas isn't it," he said.

"It's going to be an excellent Christmas Gregory. It's our very first official Christmas together." Mycroft tapped their glasses. "To the first of many excellent holidays."

:::::

"Greg, I can't locate the cards?"

"Damn I forgot, it's your fault, you distracted me. I'll do them tonight."

:::

"Cards," said Mycroft raising an eyebrow.

"Shit."

"Anthea would be more than happy…"

"No, they are my parents, I'll do it myself tonight."

:::

"No, I haven't done the bloody cards. I was late home OK."

"I didn't say anything."

:::

Greg sat at the table, there were three piles of cards in front of him and two pens. Mycroft opened his laptop and placed it on the table. "Parents, yours," he said as he typed.

"I don't know, which one should I pick?"

Mycroft sighed as Greg continued to dither. "Parents, mine." He reached over, selected a card and placed it in front of Gregory. "Hope you have a good Christmas, thinking of you, lots of love Gregory and Mycroft. Now write." He pushed the pen closer.

"Shouldn't it be Mycroft and Greg?"

"No, this was your idea so you will write Gregory and Mycroft."

"Alright, no need to get snotty." He busily scribbled down the message on the card while Mycroft wrote the address on the envelope.

"These should have been done days ago."

"Well if you had helped, maybe they would be in the post by now."

"It was your idea and therefore your responsibility."

"Next," said Greg firmly too bring the argument to a halt.

"The children and thingy."

"She does have a name you know."

"Mmm I must have deleted it. That would be Sherlock's influence."

Greg picked out a card scribbled a personal message to the kids jointly and wrote lots of love Dad and Mycroft.

"Thank you," said Mycroft picking up the card and looking at the signature before slipping it into an envelope.

"Well they need to get used to us together. No use hiding it."

"Sherlock," said Mycroft handing over another card with reindeer on the front towing a car with Santa inside.

Greg chewed on the pen then wrote, lots of murder at Christmas and a criminal New Year then pushed it towards Mycroft.

John was next, he got a serious family message as did Mrs Hudson. Siblings followed, then friends and colleagues and then so many cards Greg's hand began to cramp. "Anyone else?"

"The Queen," said Mycroft handing over a card. "To her Royal…"

Greg was half way through the standard message before he even realised what he was writing. He stopped and threw the card at Mycroft who grinned. They gathered up all the envelopes, added stamps, then a few extra stamps to make sure the cards got delivered on time and licked the envelopes closed.

In the kitchen Greg found a plastic shopping bag and placed the pile of cards inside all ready to be posted. "All done. I'll post them tomorrow, it's pouring with rain outside."

:::

"Did you post the cards?"

"Shit."

:::

"Cards?"

"I put them in my car. I'll drop them off on the way to work.

:::

"I forgot to post the cards. Why didn't you remind me?"

Mycroft rubbed his nose, the silly season had started with a vengeance and he had honestly forgotten. "Give them to me and I'll arrange for Anthea to post them."

"I can do it. Just send me an email."

::::

"My mother rang, she hasn't received her card. I told her it was posted days ago."

"Oops."

"Where is it?"

"Sitting on my desk at work. What are you doing?"

"Requesting an urgent driver. You are in no fit state to drive to work and I'm certainly not in this weather."

"It's not my fault, I've been doing the diamond robbery all bloody week."

Together they walked into Scotland Yard and located the lost Christmas cards pushed to the side to make room for files, then back to the car for a ride to the mail centre where they added even more stamps to the non-London addresses before pushing them through the slot.

"I think we need food."

"I think we need a good stiff whisky," added Mycroft as they settled back to the car. "I happen to be an expert in crises management and I must admit I am finding this slightly stressful. Is this what a normal Lestrade Christmas is like?"

"Yeah, it's sort of, shit. No, no, no."

"Greg?" said Mycroft suddenly tense.

"I didn't do a card for my parents." Greg's eyes were panicked. "Our first Christmas together and we didn't send them a card."

Mycroft stared. "Right, of course you didn't, silly me. We will just go home, pick a card and pop it in the post straight away, tonight, without any delay."

"Do we even have enough stamps?"

Mycroft frowned trying to calculate how many they had used. "We would need to check. Actually I think the best idea would be to give the card to Anthea. After all, our first combined Christmas card is a very important milestone for your parents."

"Mycroft," Greg said softly. "Do you think we could take the card tonight, with all our stamps and hand it to her personally? And when we get home we could send her a text to remind her, yeah?"

"Yes, a truly excellent idea."


	3. Mycroft's Perfect Christmas Party

Mycroft's Christmas Party

The weather forecast had been for rain so Greg had chosen to take the underground to work instead of his car. Damn weather had been fine all day. Mycroft left instructions to call for a car but Greg didn't feel confident in ringing the driver and demanding he get picked up. He was a spouse not an employee and after doing the budgets he decided he would just take a taxi home. Now he was late for to Mycroft's nibbles because the road was partially blocked and the taxi couldn't get through.

"Name?" The man appeared out of nowhere.

"Greg Lestrade."

"I'm sorry Sir, you can't enter."

So close he could see the front door. "I'll go around the back then."

"Won't do you any good, sir. No entry allowed without approval."

"But I live here."

"Then you should have been advised to make other plans for the evening." The man stood a little straighter as if ready for an attack.

Greg had been around Mycroft too long to feel intimidated by the secret service or the security services or whoever they were. "Look, just speak to Mycroft or Anthea, they'll give me access."

"I'm sorry but you aren't on the list Sir."

"Is there a problem."

Greg jumped slightly as a second man came up on his left shoulder. When he turned slightly he realised he was sandwiched between the two men in a very nice pincher movement. Even worse the man had a gun.

"Sir, Mr Georgy Lestrade name is not on this evening's guest list."

"Yeah it is," insisted Greg. "Look I've got ID."

"Gary, please have someone inside check."

Greg felt relief, someone was at least paying attention. "Ask the housekeeper, or Mycroft's driver, they know me," he said as he was manpowered to the side of the footpath.

Shit the housekeeper had the evening off because of the caterers and Mycroft would have no reason for a driver at his own home.

It seemed forever before the man returned. "Identity confirmed however I'm sorry sir you don't have clearance."

Greg was starting to get annoyed. "Look if I don't get inside there's going to be big trouble."

"Is that a threat sir, because if it was I have the authority to arrest you?"

"No, of course it's wasn't a treat, shit." He reached for his cell phone intending to call Mycroft to come and sort the situation.

"Sir if you complete your action, I can't be held responsible for the consequences."

Greg froze suddenly afraid. These weren't police, they were MI5, maybe 6, the type to shoot first and ask questions later at the commission of enquiry. He would rather not end up in hospital during Christmas, or dead. "It's a cell phone just a cell phone," he slid his empty hand out of his jacket really slowly. He then opened his jacket wide to prove he wasn't a bomber or terrorist or whatever they thought he was.

"There's blood on your shirt Sir."

"I'm a bloody murder detective, of course there is blood on me." He tried to lower his voice and not shout but he was beginning to feel guilty and annoyed. He tried to breath deep to keep calm but it wasn't working.

"May I have your cell Sir?" Greg nodded and went to reach inside his jacket. "No I'll get it." The man took the phone by the very edges and placed it in a plastic bag.

"I need it back," said Greg.

"Of course Inspector. We'll have it back to you in just a minute."

It felt a damn slight longer than just a minute. As Greg waited his energy drained away and he just felt humiliated. He felt eyes watching him, making judgements. He tried to look calm and collected as well dressed people arrived in cars and were escorted towards the door. They looked beautiful, as if they belonged. What was he but a bit of rough, Mycroft's play toy who's name wasn't even on the bloody guest list.

The man returned and handed back the phone which Greg slid into his pocket. "I regret to advise you can't be admitted entry however we can give you a lift home Sir?"

Blood shit was no one listening to him. "I am home. When do you think the party will be finished?"

"A few hours Sir."

"Thanks." Greg turned and walked away. He had nowhere to go so he headed down the road to the nearest pub. With his thumb he flicked off his cell phone. He really wasn't in the mood for work to call and bloody Mycroft could go to hell. He walked past the first pub and seeing a bus, jogged and jumped on, not caring where it went. When he got off he was in a rougher part of town which suited his mood. He walked into the nearest bar, grabbed a beer and retreated to a quite seat to drink. The first pint didn't last long. He was halfway through his second pint when he noticed trouble in a dark corner. He tried to ignore it but his principles as a Detective Inspector wouldn't let him. Annoyed he stood up, walked across the room and pulled out his warrant card. "He's with me, so unless you want to end up with a bullet through the brain, I suggest you put it away sunshine."

The knife slid back into a sleeve. "Just a slight disagreement Officer. You here official like?"

"Nope, I'm here for the beer and an epic sulk."

"What, you break up with the boyfriend then?" The group around him laughed as they nudged each other.

"Yeah and as its Christmas I thought we could celebrate with some flashing blue lights and a few sniffer dogs. It might cheer me up no end."

"Can't take a bloody joke you lot. No harm done." They backed off and Greg tugged the victims sleeve and led the way back to his table.

"Shit, you now owe me a drink. You can't leave a drink sitting unattended in a place like this." Greg made his way to the bar where he signalled the bar tender. "One beer, one water, he's paying." He gathered the drinks and made his way to the table. "Piss off," he said at the two people now sitting at his table. They looked as if they were going to object but at a discrete signal from the bar, they got up and left. "Want to tell me what your name is and why you are following me?"

"Smith."

"Let me guess, secret service? I want to see your warrant card." The man hesitated. "Don't fuck with me when you are in a room full of drunk bastards who would be quite happy to take you apart."

Smith looked around. "I would win."

"Yeah, but I would walk out the door during the fight and I don't think your boss would be too happy if you lost me." Greg took a deep sip of his drink.

Smith pulled out his card and handed it across.

"Hell, your surname really is Smith, Samual Smith, I thought you were lying." Greg pulled out his phone and took a picture of the card.

Sam reached over and grabbed Greg's wrist. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sending a photo to Sherlock Holmes, brother of Mycroft Holmes, in case something happens to me."

Sam took the card back and slid it into his pocket. "Paranoid much?"

"Your bunch make me paranoid." Greg took a much slower sip of his beer, it was a long time to closing.

:::

Mycroft took a discreet look at his watch as he made his way around the room. "Find Gregory now," he snapped at Anthea, his patience at an end. Anthea looked at him, put the phone to her ear and whispered urgently as she left the room.

"Mycroft, where is this young man of yours? I thought he was going to make an appearance."

"With the best intentions work does like to interfere."

"Rubbish, it's his place to be here with you."

"If you would excuse me Stella, I just need to speak to Anthea." He knew it was the height of rudeness, he knew at least five people were carefully watching his movements but he didn't care. This was his home and he wanted Greg by his side. He walked out of the room. "Tell me?"

"Greg left the station at 7.23. He can be tracked part way before we lost him. He has not been seen since and his cell phone is currently turned off."

This was why Mycroft hated involvement, the flash of worry, the feeling of dread settling into his stomach. Thirty minutes yes, an hour unlikely, ninety minutes with no contact, tonight of all nights was a disaster. "Put out an orange alert. I want Greg found, top priority by any means necessary. Double the security around the house and Anthea, I would suggest some of our guests might be encouraged to leave."

:::

Greg waved his glass in Sam's direction. Luckily it was only half full so the beer just sloshed up the sides and not over the edge. Sam spent the evening sipping his water and listening. Not much of a talker was Sam. "So last Christmas Sherlock shoots that bloke buts that's a Holmes Christmas for you. Nutters the lot of them. But we agreed, this year would be a Lestrade Christmas and crap like this doesn't happen in my family. I'm not saying the Lestrade's are perfect, far from it. What families are? We have the arguments, the drunks, the embarrassing relations but who doesn't. It's like pride and bloody prejudice mate, he's got the pride and I get all the bloody prejudice. Take my advice mate, don't fall in love outside your social class, it's not worth the hassle. Another water?"

"Yes please, that would great."

"Too bloody right. Shit," said Greg standing up and swaying slightly. "I need a piss, you coming?"

"Are you going to do anything stupid?"

"Nope, unless you consider flashing my willie to a bunch of homophobic bastards, who are drunker than I am, stupid."

"I guess I had better follow."

Greg walked to the bar dropped off the glasses then headed for the toilet with Smith following. He finished his business and returned to the bar. He was starting to feel quite a nice little buzz. One more beer should about finish him off then he would head out for some food. Sam could follow or piss off.

"Someone is looking for you mate," said the bartender pointing behind him. Greg turned to stare around the room speculating if he should have waited for his bodyguard before leaving the toilet. He was a drunk cop in a bar full of people almost on the wrong side of the law.

"Are you Detective Inspector Lestrade Sir?"

Greg focused his eyes on two coppers dressed in blue. "Yeah, why."

"You are wanted at the station Inspector, there's a code orange out for you."

Bloody Mycroft, thought Greg as he followed the two Police Constables out the door.

:::

The senior agent pulled out his phone and checked the new updates. Code orange alert for Gregory Lestrade he read, possible political kidnapping. The name sounded familiar, he couldn't remember why. "Run Gregory Lestrade through the database. I want a picture ASAP."

"Sir that man, DI Gregory Lestrade, he was here this evening. He's the one trying to gains access without clearance," said Gary now monitoring the CCTV cameras. He pulled up a picture.

The senior agent's blood went cold as he recognised the face. Thank God he had told Smith to follow the bastard. He rang his agent only to get no answer.

"Suspected of involvement in the death of Andrew Wellington earlier this year. Questioned and released. Contact for Sherlock Holmes at Scotland Yard. Nothing else of importance Sir."

He picked up the mike, "Green, take some men and arrest Lestrade, by any means necessary, code orange. And someone find Smith, he's not answering his radio."

The men in the room checked their phones for an updated picture, nodded and quickly left. No more mister nice guy, they now had a target.

:::

Sherlock's mobile phone pinged three separate times but Sherlock remained lying on the couch. John didn't know if he should answer Sherlock's phone or not. A few minutes later his own phone chirped. He tried to ignore it but he had been too well trained by his mother never to ignore a ringing phone. Just a quick look, just one.

"Greg's missing, code orange," he read aloud. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing," said Sherlock. "Not important, ignore it."

John slid his phone back into his pocket. A code orange sounded important to him. John had a bad feeling that Sherlock should be doing something and not just lying on the couch. "I'll just go check on the baby shall I?"

"Busy here."

John felt like kicking the couch, instead he busied himself checking all the locks, Mrs. Hudson and the baby. When he was finished he went into the kitchen to put the jug on. He had a feeling a code orange was going to be a three cup problem.

:::

"You're drunk. What the hell have you been up too? I'll take it from here," Frank waved away the uniforms and grabbed Greg's arm.

"Nothing, I went home and couldn't get in. Then I went to the pub. I'm not on the guest list. I need to be on a list to get into my own home. I've never heard of anything so stupid. And Sam has been following me all night."

"Sam who's Sam?"

"My own personal 005 or 006. I took a photo. Where are we going?"

"The cells."

Greg dug his heels in bringing them both to a stop. "Why?"

"Because you are to be detained under the terrorism act, for possible kidnapping of yourself. It a bit confusing but the warrant states you are to be arrested on sight."

"Oh," said Greg and started walking again. "You haven't read me my rights."

"You know your rights and anyway you don't have any rights under the terrorism act. Not even a bloody phone call. Now empty your pockets please."

Greg started pulling out his wallet and mobile phone and placing them on the counter. "I hate Mycroft."

"Belt, tie, socks and shoes, you know the routine. Can't have you committing suicide." Frank pulled out a plastic bag. He wrote Greg's name on the front and started listing all the contents on the clipboard.

Greg handed everything across as requested, read the piece of paper placed in front of him on the clip board and then signed it. "This had better not ruin my career. Do me a favour, ring Sherlock yeah and tell him I've been arrested."

Frank nodded. "Want a glass of water before you go in?"

"Nah, it's probably got vodka in it." He walked into the cell and sat down as the door closed. It wasn't his fist night in the cells and at least it was a free bed. He closed his eyes and tried to feel sorry for himself but all he could feel was the steady rhythm of the police station above him. This was home, this place where he had spent most of his life and now he would be spend his Christmas here too. Bugger Mycroft, he could go to hell. Greg would sleep in his own office if he had too. And Mycroft couldn't stop him from going to John's party so Christmas wasn't a complete washout.

:::

"Sir we have a problem," said Anthea.

"Another one?"

"Gregory has been arrested under the terrorism act. The charge is unclear. He is currently in the cells at Scotland Yard awaiting collection."

Mycroft remained silent as he processed the information. Was it the Russians, or the Chinese or even the USA, a low possibility but not unheard of. Was it a criminal or political move? No one came to mind, a thousand enemies but no one came to mind. "Put everyone on high alert. Someone is playing a very dangerous game and I want it stopped. Gregory is not a pawn to be used by either side." His instincts wanted him to go collect Gregory himself but there were too many people watching and judging his behaviour to take the risk. He would not allow anyone to consider Greg a hostage for Mycroft's goodwill now or in the future. He checked his smiled in the mirror before he entered the lounge. Anthea handed him a glass of wine in a crystal flute, non-alcoholic of course. There would no more alcohol until the situation was resolved.

"Henry, how is your granddaughter, I heard a rumour there was another one in the way?" If Mycroft was trapped at his own party he would make damn sure he was remembered if he needed any future favours.

:::

Anthea took a sip of wine then continued to type on her laptop. She confirmed Greg was safe, tucked up in a cell in the police station. Not happy but safe. Anthea cancelled the orange alert for kidnapping but the arrest order led nowhere accept back to her own office. She rested her fingers on the keyboard. Think she told herself. A mole, a double bluff, a threat, a diversion or a mistake.

Unable to come to a conclusion she stood up. She needed more information. Anthea locked the lap top, locked the safe, locked the room and nodded to the security guard in the hallway.

"I want the head of security," she said into her mobile phone as she walked to the room allocated to security at the back of the house.

"What do you want, can't you see I'm busy," said the senior agent.

"Gregory, has someone arranged his collection."

"I have dispatched a unit. He should be at headquarters within forty minutes."

"He was meant to be brought here?"

"I would advise against an interrogation being carried out so near to so many important people during a code red situation."

Anthea blinked, what was wrong with the secret service? Did they not read updates? "Interrogation? He's Mycroft Holmes partner."

"Look lady, I don't give a shit who he's sleeping with, he was involved in a political kidnapping."

"I suggest you check your information, when he never arrived home he was listed as missing, a possible kidnapping, as the victim."

"Madam," interrupted the man sitting quietly observing the monitors. "He was here, arrived out front and made some threats when he was denied entry."

"Gregory Lestrade lives in this house and now you are telling me he was denied entry to his own home. Why?"

"We were informed all personal were dismissed for the evening, security personal and people on the approved list were permitted entry."

"He's Mr Holmes partner," said Anthea frustrated.

"Look I currently don't give a shit who he is. He wasn't on the list, he doesn't get entry. We are currently at code red. I don't have time to deal with some PC plod sitting in a cell when I have half a dozen potential targets in that room socialising."

"But." But it was no good, Anthea turned on her very high heels and stormed from the room. The situation was ridiculous and only someone with authority could fix it. Mycroft Holmes was the person with the authority. He was going to be very unimpressed. Heads were going to roll. Anthea could only hope she still had a job at the end of it. Greg better remember the Christmas card she posted for him when her boss started on the warpath.

"Sir," Anthea reached over, removed the glass from Mycroft's hand and passed it to the woman in front of her who was too polite not to take it. "You are needed in the security room, now."

"Should we be concerned my dear," said the woman Mycroft had been talking to.

"A dispute between the security services, nothing to be concerned about," she turned to follow Mycroft but on the way detoured to a group to her left. "Mr Carter Sir, you may wish to follow Mr Holmes to the security room."

Simon, not being a stupid man took the hint and followed. Anthea was grateful he remained silent and asked no questions. She as still trying to sort the timeline of events in her head. The room felt crowded as Anthea and Simon slipped in.

"Explain," snapped Mycroft as the door closed.

"MI5 won't release Gregory from prison until the code red is cancelled."

"The code red is because he is in prison. I want to know who gave the order to have him detained."

"We did sir." Anthea breathed deep realising it was better to own up to the mistake. "When we issued the orange alert as a possible kidnapping. Gregory's name is still on the watch list as involved with a political murder. The intention of the alert was misinterpreted."

"Dear god," muttered Mycroft. "Does no one in MI5 have a brain?"

"I'm sorry Sir but he wasn't on the list," said the senior officer.

Mycroft observed everyone in the room with an icy assessment before he walked over to the table, quietly picked up a glass and threw it with all his might against the wall. The guard on the door entered the room gun drawn.

"Get out," snapped Mycroft as Simon waved the guard away. He checked the room once more before leaving. The atmosphere in the room was tense.

"Now that I have everybody's attention, Simon could you please read your invitation?"

Simon pulled the invitation from his jacket. "Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade request the pleasure..."

Mycroft held his finger up for silence. "Forty invitations passed through your hands tonight and is everyone telling me no one in the secret service read a single one of them. God help this country with you lot protecting us."

Anthea saw Simon wince, she felt rather bruised herself. She kept her mouth shut in case it drew Mr Holmes attention.

Mycroft looked around the room to ensure everyone was listening. "This is what is going to happen, you will clean up this mess." Mycroft waved his hand at the broken glass. "You will have Gregory hand delivered to this house within forty minutes with an apology. If this does not happen I will suggest the need for budget cuts and a commission of enquiry into your departmental spending." Mycroft walked to the door and opened it. "And cancel the bloody red alert." He didn't slam the door on his exit but it was a close thing.

"That went well," said Simon still staring at the door.

"We need to fix this and fast. Eta on the team sent to collect Greg. We need to brief them on his new status and ensure he is delivered in pristine condition," said Anthea pulling out her phone. The room scrambled.

"We have a problem," said the communications operator looking up a few moments later. "Team lima report Gregory Lestrade is not in his cell at Scotland Yard. Repeat, he is not in his cell at Scotland Yard. They are requesting new instructions."

Simon and Anthea looked at each other in horror.

:::

The key in the lock caught his attention. When the door opened Greg glanced up from his bed to see Sherlock walk in followed by John. "Get out of my cell. I'm not talking to anyone by the name of Holmes. John can stay."

"Ta mate," said John leaning up against the wall. "We heard you were having a bit of bother."

Sherlock sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous, we have come to rescue you. Do hurry up, I don't have all night. Things to do"

"Do you hear something John? I think I hear a voice but I can't see anyone. All I hear is bah, bah, bah."

John grinned but was sensible and kept his mouth shut.

"I have decided to cancel Christmas," said Greg laying back down on the bed. "I will of course come to your party John as you had no involvement in my arrest. I intend to spend Christmas in my office sleeping on the floor and eating KFC. I do not intend to leave this building ever again. Sherlock is banned from Scotland Yard and all crime scenes until this time next year."

"But that's not fair."

"Alias the world isn't fair. I will still allow John on crime scenes. He can report back to you via camera phone otherwise Sherlock, you can bugger off to Scotland."

"Bit harsh that isn't it mate. It's not like Sherlock had you arrested," said John still laughing.

Greg swung his feet off the bed and sat up. "I was arrested for terrorism John. I'm luckily if I have a job left when this is finished."

"There's no need for me to leave London. Mycroft will arrange a transfer for you to York, or Oxford, Bradford or even Midsomer. Somewhere with lots of lovely murders which need solving."

John turned and stared at his friend. "Sherlock, you do know Midsomer doesn't actually exist? It's just a TV programme."

"Do I look like a goldfish, obviously the names are changed to protect the innocent."

"If I'm transferred out because our relationship hit the rocks, Scotland Yard will close ranks and refuse to deal with you Sherlock. So you had better watch it," threatened Greg.

"Bluff," said Sherlock, then paced up and down, a total of four short very annoying paces each way. How could anyone think in a cell? "This situation is intolerable. How did Mycroft let this state of affairs get so out of hand? Its spite, he's always hated me."

Greg laughed, "yeah it's all about you mate and never about anyone else."

Sherlock twirled, "You are drunk," he snapped before walking out of the cell leaving John and Greg behind.

"Are you coming Greg?"

"Why should I."

"Because Sherlock is going to actually yell at his brother and not just have raised eyebrows at forty paces. If we don't hurry up we are going to miss it."

Greg thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, alright I'm coming. I still don't forgive either of them though."

"You don't have too. You can stay at our place if you want until you find a place of your own. And Mrs Hudson goes to her sisters over the holiday period so if you speak to her nicely you can probably stay downstairs for a while. You won't be left on your own."

"Thanks." It was a bit of relief really. Sure someone from his team would have given him a room for the holiday period but it was Christmas and he didn't want to look pathetic. He was a senior officer, not a drunken bum thrown out of the house buy a spouse. Was Mycroft his spouse, were they that serious?

"So this argument between you and Mycroft, is this just a one off or is this going to be an annual Christmas event."

"Are you two coming?" snapped Sherlock sticking his head around the corner of the door once more. Greg and John looked at each other and scrambled after Sherlock now marching down the hallway. Greg closed the door and let it click shut before he walked barefooted after the other two.

He expected the duty sergeant to challenge his leaving or for someone to notice he had no shoes as he made his escape to freedom. But people just nodded as he walked past and out the door. He wanted to yell at them to stop being so blind and stupid and to arrest him. Didn't they know he was a wanted terrorist? The whole situation just seemed so incredibly stupid so he did the only intelligent thing he could think to do and just followed Sherlock.

:::

The taxi pulled up near the front door.

"Maybe we should go around the back," said Greg in a small voice. He was getting more sober by the minute and even though Sherlock had stated the warrant for his arrest had been cancelled, he didn't feel very confident. He was way past fashionably late. The best solution would be to have a decent kip and sort the mess in the morning when everyone had a clear head. Greg was beginning to regret leaving the comfort of his cell.

Sherlock sniffed. "How can we make a grand entrance via the back door?" He exited the taxi with his coat flaring in the breeze. John paid before he and Greg scrambled to keep up. "Sherlock Holmes, brother," he said in a loud voice and opened his arms wide. "Do hurry up, Mycroft does hate tardiness."

"We were not aware you were invited Sir."

"And yet I have an invitation. It's so hard to get good help these days," sneered Sherlock.

"And you are Sir," said the security guard moving away from Sherlock.

"Captain John Watson, blogger and my plus one," said Sherlock before John could utter a word.

"Of course Mr Holmes." The guard allowed John to take two steps towards Sherlock leaving Greg on his own unprotected. "And you are sir?"

"Look I don't care anymore. This just isn't worth the effort. It's probably best for everyone if I just leave."

"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, host of the evening and obviously my brother in law," said Sherlock in a posh voice as if daring anyone to contradict him. "Now we either enter or I make a scene out here for all the important people on the street to witness."

The security guard tapped his ear and listened for a moment. "Welcome home Sir," he said signalling for Greg to enter.

The sudden change in attitude had Greg reeling. He had been ready for a fight, an argument on the front steps resulting in Mycroft storming out of the house to rescue his beloved. It was such an anti-climax and now that he was inside, all he felt was tired. He wanted to go up to his room and crawl under the blankets and go to sleep.

"Mycroft," yelled Sherlock marching through the entrance way towards the staircase. At the commotion security converged.

"Do shut up Sherlock, I had enough dramatics for one evening." Simon strolled down the staircase. "And you must be Gregory Lestrade, a pleasure to finally meet you."

Sherlock walked to the bottom of the staircase as if to greet Simon. "What did Mycroft do?"

"Nothing that can't be fixed," said Simon."

"Palms sweaty, heart rate calmed as soon as you saw the Inspector. Pocket creased as if you have used your mobile. Mycroft, he did something out of the ordinary, something that made you afraid Simon. Not a threat to your department, not the code orange." He put his fingers against his lips.

"Come on Sherlock you promised me food," said John. "And Greg could do with a seat."

"He broke a glass," said Anthea following Simon down the staircase. "So I suggest you stay out of his way. He really isn't in the mood. Good evening Greg. It's a pleasure to finally see you."

Sherlock clapped his hands with glee. "Oh, there really is a Santa. Mycroft smashed a glass on purpose. Against a wall. In front of staff. For Fred."

"Shut up Sherlock, you're still banned from the yard for a year." Greg relaxed when Sherlock got his name wrong. As if things were returning to normal.

"But I got you inside." Sherlock's face fell like a child who had been denied a treat for achieving the impossible.

"Well it's no use just standing here Sir, all the best Lestrade parties start in the kitchen," Sam Smith walked across the foyer focusing on Greg and ignoring everyone else. "I would suggest we retreat for a nice cup of tea and a bit of chocolate cake. Mr Carter, if you could be so kind as to clear the way. Ms Anthea, if you could nip upstairs and collect Greg's cloths and shoes."

"I'm not a child so don't bloody treat me like one," hissed Greg.

"Tea seems a great idea to me." John turned and headed for the back of the house towards the kitchen. Sherlock automatically followed. Anthea departed up the staircase and Sam signalled his boss towards the kitchen leaving just the two of them the foyer.

"Do you love him?"

"None of your bloody business," snapped Greg.

"Fair enough," said Sam. His face had a polite smile but his demeanour was completely serious. "You put vodka in my water, that wasn't nice. You knew I had a gun. I could gave shot someone while under the influence. You are going to spend five minutes listening to me and after that, you can go away and finish your epic sulk."

"Look it's been a long evening, just get to the point."

Sam paused and looked around the room. Just a quick glance to assess the situation. It was ingrained. Sam was good at his job and his job was the security. "Look tonight, you and me in that pub, I get it mate. I do. But there's a saying in this business, when elephants fight the grass gets trampled. You and me, we don't get any more grass roots. Mr Holmes, he's like a bull elephant who declared you as his private territory but tonight you got trampled. You could have phoned Mr Holmes when you left, or Ms Athena but you didn't. You turned off your phone and went to a pub where you had no place being to prove how tough you were. Inside the walls of this house you can be as stupid as you like but out there," Sam pointed his finger towards the front door. "Be the cop you are and don't make someone like me take a bullet for you."

"I'm not that important," mumbled Greg.

"What's the motto you lot have, working for a safer London?"

"Working together for a safer London," corrected Greg.

"Well, you clearly make Mr Holmes happy and a happy Holmes means everyone is working together for a safer United Kingdom if not the bloody world. I personally think that's a bloody important job." Sam stared deeply into Greg's eyes to check if he was getting the message then walked away leaving Greg standing alone.

"Shit," Greg really didn't want to be standing alone in the foyer surrounded by a lot of pissed off secret service people with guns. Upstairs or not upstairs? Turning he headed towards the kitchen. He could talk to Mycroft later, right now, well Sam was right. The best parties always started in the kitchen.

He turned the corner and found everyone eating off plates of nibbles. "Where are the caterers, are we meant to be eating these?"

John thrust a mug into Greg's hand. "There's beer if you want it and try this salmon thing, it's divine," he said and popped another morsel into his mouth.

Greg selected one not feeling very hungry but soon found he had eaten five and his mug of tea was half empty. He felt better with something in his stomach and realised how stupid he had been drinking on an empty stomach.

Anthea came back with his clothes and after a quick fight, which he lost again, he got unchanged standing in the kitchen.

"Nothing I haven't seen before,' said Anthea as she undid his trousers and let them fall to the floor and then started on his shirt buttons.

"A training exercise," said Sherlock suddenly. "With MI5 and Greg being the so called rabbit. A failure to cancel the exercise when he wasn't caught. Of course it would make sense if John and I were on the detective's team. Simon can fill in the blanks."

Greg looked up in disbelief. "Who in hell is going to believe that?"

"It's happened before," said Simon. "When family get involved shit happens. Bloody amateurs think they know who things work because they watch movies."

Greg had managed to change his trousers and shirt and now Anthea was slipping on the jacket. Greg looked down. "What about the shoes."

"Damn," said Anthea and helped him off with the jacket again so he could bend down and put his socks on. His feet felt warmer in socks, he thought as he slipped on his shoes and then the jacket once more. He grabbed some more food making sure not to mark the suit.

"Ready," said Anthea stepping back to look.

"Right," said Simon and led the way out of the kitchen, followed by Greg and lastly Anthea following behind. As if Greg would escape if not corralled.

Upstairs Simon held back and Anthea slipped her arm around Greg's arm and led him thru the door. Greg's eyes met Mycroft's and in a slight second he saw worry, concern and love before it disappeared into a cool professional smile. Greg smiled and talked and sipped drinks. He found plates of food placed in his hand and later whisked away. If he faulted he found Anthea or Simon, Mycroft or even Sam, now dressed as staff, at his side smoothing the edges.

:::

"Hello, I wondered when you would make it into here."

"Greg," he said. He had slipped out of the main room across the hallway to where the conversation seemed a bit less frantic.

"I know, my names Holly, we were introduced before."

"Sorry, it getting late." He took a seat on a couch and leaned back before realising everyone was staring at him. "Have I done something wrong?" Again, he thought.

"It's the spouse's corner, where the wives go to drink tea when the men want to speak business," Holly said.

"Except that's sexist. Some of us are men, not women, same principle though. I'm Edward." Edward once again introduced the seven people in the room. Greg recognised some of them from earlier in the evening. Some sat with their heels off, others had loosened their jackets and sipped drinks. They discussed Christmas and kids, shopping and holidays. Greg sat, relaxed and said very little. The group dwindled as spouses came and collected their partners and left.

Soon it was just Holly and Greg left. "You did very well for your first party even though you were late."

"Thank you."

"Mycroft was very concerned, so was Anthea."

"So was I," said Greg. The silence settled and he found himself closing his eyes and drifting into sleep. He heard Mycroft's voice, someone moved his legs and placed a pillow under his head. He would open his eyes in a minute, get up and go to bed. Just a few more minutes of peace before he faced Mycroft wrath.

:::

He opened his eyes and sat up, it was dark. Well, not completely dark, there was a lamp in the corner casting a low light but the house felt quiet and not at all like when he closed his eyes.

"I'm not asleep," said Mycroft in the darkness.

"Bloody hell you should have gone to bed ages ago. What's the time?" Greg rubbed his face and hair.

"Near three."

"I could murder a cup of tea." His mouth had that flavour of beer as if he had been drinking, which he had.

"Would you like me to put the jug on?"

"Yeah, that would be great, thanks Mycroft. I just need a piss then I'll meet you in the kitchen." Greg found the toilet and relieved his bladder. As much as he wanted to go back to sleep he needed to have a discussion with Mycroft. He needed to know where he stood, if the relationship was finished. He had failed, his very first party in their home and it had been spoiled. It was not a conversation that could be put off. He gave his face a bit of a wash to wake himself up and ran his fingers thru his hair again.

"Do we have anything to eat?" he asked as he entered the kitchen.

"We have a whole platter of food for you to take to work."

"If I still have a job?"

"Of course you have a job."

Greg opened the fridge and made a selection which he placed on a plate. John had been right the salmon things had been great as was the chicken rolls. "I was arrested on a charge of terrorism. I broke out of jail. I didn't stop for my clothes, ID or wallet. My work mates probably think I'm guilty."

"You didn't break out. Please remember Sherlock released you under my orders. You will of course receive an official apology for the torment and humiliations you have suffered."

"Mycroft, at my level you don't get an apology for volunteering to help in training sessions between the police and the secret services or whatever they are calling themselves tonight. We have a natural mistrust of each other. An apology will make me look guilty."

"Point." Mycroft placed a glass of water in front of Greg then busied himself pouring the tea.

"How did the party go?"

Mycroft's shoulders went stiff. "You disappeared and later you turned up drunk. The guests were aware I was concerned which is never a good thing. As security alerts continued to increase certain guests were requested politely to leave. The party did not go as I had planned."

Greg winched, "where there any good points?"

"The party closed early, some boring people went home and you managed to become a member of the spouses club which is something I have never managed to achieve. Overall I would say mission achieved."

"And what about us, are we good?"

Mycroft closed his eyes and pulled the tea cup closer for warmth. "You were drunk, you called people by the wrong names and you fell asleep on the couch in front of guests. You showed a complete lack of respect for my friends.

"Sorry." Greg felt his stomach drop. In Mycroft's world appearance was everything and now everyone was going to know Greg wasn't good enough. A lower class piece of rough that Mycroft picked up off the street.

Mycroft's look softened. "You also kissed me on the cheek once, squeezed my hand twice and called me love in front of our guests. You started a heated group discussion about football which later turned to other sport after you left. You told Sir Lloyd to get over himself and to send his bloody kids a present because it was Christmas."

"I did not swear."

"You thought it and everyone in the room knew. People approved. For once the gathering felt like holiday festivity for friends and not a room full of polite acquaintances circling each other."

"So a great party?"

"I'm sure there is room for improvement but overall yes, I would say it was a very good party."

Greg yawned and gave a sleepy grin. By mutual agreement they both cleared away the plates and cups, leaving them on the bench for the housekeeper in the morning and headed for bed.


	4. Chapter 4

"Shit l'm late. Why didn't you wake me?"

"After last night I decided you need your sleep. It won't hurt for you to be an hour late to work to clear the alcohol from your system."

"Two beers and a few wines, I was hardly rolling drunk. You know I've got the morning tea this morning and the Christmas booze up tonight so I can't afford to be late to work today. Don't expect me home on time." He zoomed to the bathroom, had a quick shower and quickly changed into some clothes. Last night's suit was neatly on a hanger ready to be taken to the dry cleaner.

Greg walked into the kitchen rubbing his wrist where his watch normally sat. He gave a quick look at the clock and calculated he didn't have time for breakfast. It didn't matter, there would be plenty of food at work. "What happened to my secret Santa present?"

"Cupboard."

Greg opened to door, to find a pile of wrapped presents. They really needed to be scattered under the tree now Mycroft's party was over. "Which one is mine?"

Mycroft looked up from his laptop. "The one with Sally written on it," he said as if speaking to an idiot.

Oh, thought Greg as he searched through the pile, John, Ms H, Matthew, Sally, yes, he grabbed the present and placed it on the table for later.

"Would you like a lift to work?"

Greg glanced at the clock calculating times. "That would be great thanks but we need to leave now."

Mycroft took a last bite of his toast, stood up and put the dishes on the counter for the housekeeper to deal with later. "The car is already out front. Don't forget the platter. There is also a bag containing potato crisps and peanuts to your left."

"Damn," muttered Greg and pulled the platter out of the fridge. He put it on the table next to the present and checked his pockets for his wallet and ID only to remember they still needed to be collected from booking. He balanced the present on top of the foil, looped the plastic bag through his fingers and headed out. "Door," he yelled. Mycroft opened it obediently for him then set the alarms before continuing to the car. The driver opened the door and took the platter so he could settle in.

As he got himself organised he slid the present into the plastic bag. He still had to sneak it into work and under the tree without a bunch of nosy detectives noticing. Logically, he should have taken the present to work earlier but honestly he had been busy. The journey was quiet as Mycroft worked on his computer and Greg mentally reviewed the cases he needed to clear before the end of the month as he watched the sky grow lighter. The one thing he hated about winter was the extremely short days, it would be getting dark by four.

"So what do you have planned for today?" asked Greg as they approached Scotland Yard.

Mycroft looked up from his laptop and grinned. "Revenge."

Greg took one look at his face and decided that he really, really didn't want to know.

:::

At work Greg placed the platter in the fridge for later and emptied the plastic bag on the table then put the present back I the plastic bag. He grabbed a coffee for himself and headed back to his office with the present stuffed inside his jacket. All he needed to do was sneak Sally's present under the tree without anyone seeing. In the middle of his desk he found a plastic bag with his watch, police ID and his wallet. There was also anther bag with his shoes, belt and tie which he had forgotten about. He read the outside label and ticked off all the items listed, checking all his cash and ID were still in his wallet. Lastly he slipped his watch on and checked his cell phone for messages. Finally feeling dressed he slipped walked into office slipped the present under the Christmas tree, positive a thousand eyes were watching him.

At the normal morning meeting they discussed the outstanding cases, workloads and who was taking leave. He warned everyone his present better be in the pile and repeated the time everyone was to meet at the pub before warning this entire team he expected a full day of work from everyone.

The morning had never felt so slow. At morning tea, his team fell on the food on the table like starving wolves. Cake, cheese and fruit had been added by other people and Greg knew the free food would attract visitors to the section.

"Thanks for the food Boss. Did you hear Weaver got a phone call from the Chief congratulating him on his smooth booking of you as a terrorist? He passed with top marks. Poor sod didn't even know it was a test, not that he told the Chief that." Duncan stuffed some food in his mouth and chewed.

Sally sipped on her glass of orange half sitting on a corner of a desk. "No one here knew there was an exercise? You certainly kept that close to your chest. What was up boss?"

"I stupidly volunteered to play a baddie. I spent most of the evening sitting in a pub being watched by the secret service. They also followed me during the day only I never spotted anyone. That was the point I suppose."

"The Naked Fist, not the sort of pub I'd drink in. You've got guts."

"Yeah, not my usual, but I thought it was the type of pub a terrorist would hang out in, stupid me. Mycroft issued an arrest warrant but luckily the police got there first." Staff laughed as Greg tried to down play the situation.

One of the detectives dressed as a Santa soon called everyone to task and handed out the presents one by one to cat calls and laughter. Greg got a mug which said Keep calm and support Arsenal. He loved it, secretly wishing he thought to buy one for Mycroft.

"OK everyone, back to work or we will never get anything done today." He said long after the last of the presents were handed out. Everyone retreated to their desks.

It wasn't long before Sally stuck her head around the corner. "I wanted to say sorry. All these years I always thought your wife brought your gifts for you. But this one," she held up a bottle of lavender scented hand lotion. "This present is great. I'm going to use it after all the smelly crime scenes so I really wanted to say thanks. It smells terrific."

Greg blushed slightly. He was pleased to see Sally like her gift.

"You didn't buy it did you?"

"Well, I paid for it," he admitted.

"Shit, at least your current partner has better taste than your ex."

Greg told Sally where the chemist shop was and she promised to check it out. A call to the tip line refocused attention on one of the cases, evidence results were received by email and his team was suddenly busy checking out leads.

Greg's phone chirruped. 'Your office 30 minutes, MH'.

Greg looked at his watch and wondered if Mycroft intended to take him to lunch. Hopefully no crime would come in needing his attendance. It would be nice to have a lazy lunch with Mycroft. He finished the conversation with a detective, a review of the witness statements, case files and the recommendation of the Crown Law office. He didn't think they had enough for a warrant, not quite yet. He provided some suggestions aware they couldn't afford for the man to be on the streets at Christmas. But they also couldn't afford for the man to be released on sloppy police work either. In this case he urged caution which wasn't what his detective wanted to hear.

"Boss, I think you better get out here now," called Sally with a quick look into his office.

Greg stood concerned at her tone and wondering what the trouble was. He hoped it was something quick, he was meeting Mycroft for lunch soon. When he reached the bullpen he discovered Anthea was dressed as an elf complete with hat and a very short mini skirt. Simon was dressed in reindeer ears with Christmas tie and braces. Greg didn't recognise the last man in the trio. They all carried boxes. Anthea and Simon each carried three large pizza boxes and the third person had two smaller boxes.

On spotting Greg, Anthea stepped forward. "To everyone in your team Detective Inspector, a thank you for all your hard work throughout the year," she said.

"For making it home on your own," said Simon. The room was starting to smell like warm pizza, attracting the staff on the floor.

"Actually I wasn't on my own, I had Sherlock and John." mumbled Greg to made it sound like the evening was a team effort. Everyone on serious crimes knew anything involving Sherlock and John automatically made things weird.

"Merry Christmas, now would you like the food out here or in a staff room?" asked Anthea in no nonsense tone.

"Ahh, staff room please, Sally would you lead the way." As his staff automatically followed the pizza boxes, Greg noticed the third person hung back.

"Mr Lestrade, a personal gift. Merry Christmas and don't eat them all at once." The unnamed stranger handed over the smaller of the two boxes then proceeded to follow Anthea and Simon.

Greg broke the wrapping, stunned when he saw the Harrods chocolate box logo. The box had to hold at least 12 individual handmade chocolates.

"What's in it?" asked one of the DC's lagging behind.

"None of your business sunshine."

"Better hurry or you will miss out on the food, Greg," called Sally.

Greg quickly closed the wrapping paper before anyone could see inside and hid the box in his office. When he arrived in the staff room pizza boxes were already open and the last box revealed a cake. The room turned to stare at his entry and he realised his team were waiting for him to say something.

"Thank you very much for all the food and for acknowledging the information I supplied was correct. Merry Christmas everyone."

"It's not poisoned is it," said a smart arse at the back of the room.

"Merry Christmas now please, eat before it gets cold," commanded the stranger as if a merry Christmas was the last thing on his mind.

The team didn't need to be told twice, they all grabbed a piece. Greg got himself a small slice and then found himself in a corner next to Anthea. "So

"Not that drunk. You are lucky I like you or I would be plotting some revenge of my own."

Greg frowned, "I would have thought Mycroft would do something a bit more devious than pizza."

"This is more than pizza." said Simon cautiously as he moved closer to Greg's shoulder and dropped his voice. "His Lordship walked out of an extremely important meeting to stand in line at Harrods and personally purchased a small box of your favourite chocolates. Not his assistant, not an employee and no ordering in advance. We had to bear witness dressed like this."

"Do you know how embarrassing it is to wear an elf outfit in Harrods at this time of year? People actually thought I worked there. It was hardly discreet. I then walked into a common pizza shop." Anthea turned to stare at her left. "Do that one more time Detective and I will break your wrist."

"Duncan," growled Greg at the sheepish man now moving away. "So Simon, what do you do?" he said deciding to change the subject.

"I'm an accountant."

Anthea snorted but didn't contradict the statement. So, probably true but also something much more if he worked in the same circles as Mycroft.

"Think forensic accounting, only he hides the stuff as well as finds it," said Anthea.

"Right," said Greg speculating that MI5 probably needed secret accountants to keep track of their secret mission money for their secret 007's. The thought made his head spin.

"I don't know what you're complaining about. I wasn't even involved," said Simon. He watched the room with the same intensity of any agent. "I was an invited guest with an official invitation. This revenge saga has nothing to do with me."

"Elephants fighting," muttered Greg under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." Greg was starting to feel hungry. He had done enough of the good boss thing by letting others go first. There was a piece of pizza on the table with his name on it. He stepped forward and grabbed a second piece. Both Anthea and Simon shook their heads at his offer.

"Time to leave," said Anthea as she pushed away from the wall. "Mr Holmes will collect you from your booze up. Please ensure you keep him advised of your movements."

Greg shrugged, "No need, I'll just get a taxi."

Anthea scowled. "You will not get a taxi. You will ring or risk a gremlin attack on your office computer. Today is not the day to push your luck with me. I am not in a happy mood."

"OK," said Greg slightly intimated. He forgot that Anthea was actually an agent in her own right. He was too used to her in her persona of an efficient assistant. Greg noted the stranger had already slipped out the door.

"No hard feelings?" said Simon and held out his hand to Greg.

"Try to be home at a reasonable hour tonight. Mycroft is still edgy and tomorrow's work schedule is massive."

Greg watched them leave. He estimated the whole saga took less than five minutes, timed to the last second. He pulled out his phoned, thanks for the pizza, he texted and added a smiley face.

My pleasure MH, was the reply. There was no emoticon attached.

:::

Greg looked in the direction of the chocolates. They were out of sight and meant to be out of mind but he knew they were there, waiting. Once the box was opened, one became two, which quickly became three. He closed the box, replaced the wrapping and stuck tape on the paper. The chocolates were still sitting there calling him. He did some work, went for a cup of coffee and had another piece of carrot cake. The carrot cake was delicious with lemon and nuts and melted in his mouth. But he still wanted another chocolate, just one more. But if he gave in, there would be one less chocolate for him to eat later.

Greg sent a text. 'I hate you.'

The phone pinged 'why.'

'The chocolates are calling.'

'?'

Greg didn't reply, he was sure Mycroft had far better things to do than deal with Greg's chocolate craving. Luckily, a break in a case meant he had to leave his office a go to a murder scene.

"I hope this isn't going to take long," he told Anderson who for once managed to arrive on a scene before Greg.

"Pretty open and shut," said Anderson. "Stabbed with a kitchen knife by his wife, she's in the bedroom now giving a statement. It appears she just snapped under the pressure. The evidence is fairly clear."

Greg stuck his head into the bedroom where a woman was weeping and Sally was taking a statement. He took a quick look around the flat at the Christmas decorations, the food on the counter and the presents under the tree. It looked like the typical nice family which was now broken. Peace on earth and goodwill to all men, except at Christmas. He checked with the rest of the team and found his presence was not required. Back at the Yard he got himself a cup of tea, found a piece of left over pizza in the fridge and retreated to his office.

He read his emails, flicking some of the funny Christmas ones to his kids. Forwarding emails was an easy way of keeping in contact instead of writing a message when he didn't know what to say.

Before long it started getting dark outside as the afternoon moved to evening. He logged himself off work before checking the incident board in case he was tempted to be sucked into a case. This year he was determined not to miss the Christmas function. He didn't often go out with the team anymore. Not like he used to when he was married. Funny that, now he had Mycroft and a warm house to go home to and he was determined to keep it as long as he could. He was going old, too old to drink with the youngsters.

He wasn't even the first person at the pub. Two of his team had cut work early and already had a beer. He grabbed a pint and they talked about the normal things, what they were doing for Christmas, food, family and travel. He started to enjoy himself.

:::

Mycroft paused at the door, he was dressed in jeans and a pullover. He hoped Greg appreciated it. His tailor had studied him strangely when he had requested a casual outfit suitable for a pub. For Gregory, he had added. He hated explaining himself but his tailor gave a small smile and this was the result. He pushed the door open and walked in quickly, it was easy to locate Greg's team.

"I love you," said Greg turning in his direction as Mycroft closed the gap.

"I know," replied Mycroft trying to judge how much the man had had to drink. He heard a hoot and looked up to see someone exchange money with another. His reply had been wrong, this was why he hated social situations when there wasn't enough time to study the group behaviours. "I love you too." But the words sounded cold and stilted to his ears. The declaration was said to late. The words lacked the passion which his Gregory deserved. But it didn't matter, Greg leaned over and kissed him, in front of all his work colleges. Mycroft tried to relax, he tried to tell himself it didn't matter, no one was watching, no one cared. But they all were, every single member of Greg's team were watching and judging Mycroft's actions. It was grating. When the kissed ended he leaned closer to Greg to show his support. For Greg he wanted this evening to be unspoiled by an agenda he normally kept hidden. He wanted to show his sexuality, to show he was comfortable with Greg as his partner and that he was not ashamed. He reached out and took Greg's hand.

Greg grinned, "So want a beer?"

"Yes thank you that would be nice." He spent the evening chatting to people who really didn't care what he thought unless he agreed with them. It was refreshing. For his second drink he switched to cider. People kept buying him drinks and telling him stories. He found half fill glasses were easy to lose and empty glasses easy to find.

"Come on you time to go home," said Greg. Mycroft looked down at his beer. "Leave it," said Greg standing up. "OK you lot, the oldies are off to bed. Have a good evening and remember to be at work on time, no excuses."

"Should I arrange taxis," asked Mycroft quietly.

"Just for us love."


	5. Chapter 5 Phone Calls to Family

Mycroft

"How are you mother? Excellent, and father? Very good. Of course you got the card, I told you it was in the post. Yes, it is nice that Gregory is still living with me. Of course we will. Yes. Yes. Is he? Holiday on the continent, excellent idea. Yes, I agree, much less stress after last year. I'll arrange tickets shall I? Wonderful. Sherlock? Still causing problems, you know what he's like. I told him to contact you. Not even a text? You should ring John, he would love to tell you about my brother. Of course. Yes the baby is fine. Well merry Christmas. I'll see you at the airport shall I? Excellent. Goodbye mother and merry Christmas to you both."

Mycroft hung up the phone pleased he had another item ticked off his list. This holiday had the potential for being one of the best. He emailed Anthea to contact his mother and arrange tickets and a hotel which provided all the trimmings on Christmas day. It was the least he could do to make their holiday a pleasant one. His finger paused over the send button, better make it a train ticket. He amended the content of the email. Flying was so unpredictable at this time of year, first tickets class of course and a sleeper coach if required. Mycroft pressed send.

:::

Greg

"Hi dad is mum there. Yeah I'm fine dad. Oh, you got the card, that's great. Works fine, on TV a lot more but you know how it is. How is the darts going? That good, well get gets you out from under mum's feet. Oh hello mum, I just rang to say merry Christmas. Yeah. Yeah. No. That's nice. Yes I intend to see the kids at Christmas but I have to plan around Debbie. I know mum. Don't be mean mum it's Christmas. Yeah. Oh, you're going to Catherine's for Christmas day. No that's good. We'll come in the New Year and bring the kids. Yes I know you want to meet him. He's very busy. No, after Christmas would suit us better. Dinner, yeah. Of course I'll bring the kids. Great. Merry Christmas mum. Yeah, love you all, bye. Bye."

Greg hung up the phone disappointed he wouldn't be spending Christmas with his parents. It was good they were heading north. They didn't get to see his sister and her kids often enough and they weren't getting any younger. Catherine didn't have enough room for everyone and it wasn't like Greg had to see his parents on Christmas day. Mum was right. It would be easier drive the three hours with Mycroft and the kids after Christmas when things weren't so frantic on the roads. Christmas was always a time when he realised he didn't visit his parents often enough and they weren't getting younger. He wanted his kids to remember their grandparents when they grew up, they really needed to visit more often next year.

He went into the kitchen where his Christmas list was attached to the fridge and crossed off Christmas at his parents. It was looking like it would be just him and Mycroft this year. Now they could book a dinner at a fancy restaurant or just have a bit of chicken at home. Greg could cook, nothing elaborate, but he could do a bit of roast chicken with stuffing and a few vegetables. The house keeper would be happy to do the shopping and there were always leftovers in the freezer. He would need to speak to Mycroft to find out his preference. Pulling out his phone Greg sent a message to Mycroft, the sooner his partner reorganised his schedule the better.

:::

Mycroft

The phone rang. Greg was a bit confused at first, the internal phone hardly ever rang and if it did it rang in Mycroft's home office not the kitchen. As he stared at it dithering if to answer it or not it stopped. Should he ring Mycroft, tell him the phone had rung, the home phone, not the work phone. Hell, he was driving himself crazy, it was just a phone call. The internal system was probably set up to transfer any call to Mycroft's cell if not answered. The phone rang again and this time Greg answered.

:::

"Sir, I think you have a problem."

Mycroft looked up, what now he thought. The silly season always intruded when he wanted to clear his desk. It was like every problem was shuffled from one desk to the next with no one prepared to make the slightest decision. This year he actually had a reason to want to stay home for a few days during the holiday period.

"Yes?" he said.

"Your mother rang to cancel the tickets to Venice. She's under the impression they were invited to stay at your place for the Christmas break. She said Greg invited them."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I think you should ring Greg, Sir," said Anthea as she slipped out the door.

Mycroft sat and stared at his desk and the work covering it. He had worked so hard to clear his schedule to spend time with his partner and make this holiday special. Now his parents thought they were visiting. He couldn't understand what had gone wrong. Everything was organised down to the last detail. Mycroft had booked a special Christmas lunch at the Cinnamon Club. Mycroft knew Greg would get a laugh out of eating at the same restaurant the ministers did when Parliament was in session. After lunch they would come home, watch the match of the day and the Dr Who Christmas special, they would drink wine and eat chocolates and not speak to Sherlock.

Mycroft picked up the phone, he needed to fix this catastrophe quickly before Anthea had a chance to cancel the tickets. He listened to the ring tone. "Greg…"

"It not my fault."

Mycroft closed his eyes and softened his voice. "What's not your fault Greg?

"The phone rang and I didn't answer it then it rang again. You never said don't answer the phone, so I did."

The phone went silent as the explanation stopped. "Yes, you answered the phone and then what happened?"

"Your mother, she was really nice. She rang about the train tickets."

Of course thought Mycroft. Mother rang my home when she has Anthea on speed dial. Rang when she knows I would be at work, oh well played for a chance taken.

"We talked about Venice and how my parents had always wanted to visit but never had the money. She asked me about my family so I said about how we weren't visiting mum and dad because they were going to Catherine's. Which appears to be close to them so I gave my parents phone number to your mother so they could talk. I think she wants to gossip to my parents and find out if I'm good enough for her son. Did I mention how nice your mother is?"

Like a lamb to the slaughter, thought Mycroft. "Yes, she likes you too. She may have mentioned coming to stay at our home for a week."

"Well I knew you wouldn't mind, they are your parents after all and it seemed the right thing to do. Your mother hasn't been to London in ages, and it will give her a chance to meet John's baby. We won't even notice they are here."

Oh my giddy aunt, thought Mycroft and considered beating his head against his desk. He considered checking the records to see how often his mother had rung the house on the off chance Greg would answer the phone. But did he really want to know?

"You're angry with me aren't you?"

"Of course not," said Mycroft in what he hoped was a soothing tone.

"Yes you are, I can feel it. You have gone quiet in that disapproving tone of yours. Don't you want to spend Christmas with your parents?"

Mycroft scrambled for something to say, "it's just we were going to have a Lestrade Christmas and now you'll be outnumbered by the Holmes family. This is our first Christmas together and I wanted it to be perfect. Mother will expect us to invite Sherlock and you know what a problem he can be. I worry you will get lost in the family drama."

"I'm sorry."

"Greg you don't have to be sorry."

"I thought you liked your mother but clearly you didn't want them for the holidays. Look give me her number and I'll phone and cancel."

"No, I don't think that would be a very good idea."

"Mycroft, I tell families people they love have been murdered, or arrested for murder. I'm quite capable of ringing your parents and destroying their Christmas."

"Give me a moment I need to think." Mycroft listened to the silence on the phone, these decisions were a lot easier when he could get tiny clues from eyes and nervous ticks. He would need to balance the words and the tone. Destruction of Christmas, was that a clue? It was a very emotive Sherlock thing to say but what did Greg mean. "You did say a whole week?"

"Yes, maybe eight days."

"I have work I can't cancel."

"So have I, they are adults, they can keep themselves amused."

That was a novel idea which as not going to happen thought Mycroft. He always felt guilty when his parents came to town as if he didn't spent enough time with them. Which he didn't of course but his parents understood he was a very busy man.

"Tell me what you are thinking love," said Greg.

"I wanted to make a desert on Christmas Eve, get up early and go to church before breakfast. Go out for lunch and when we came home you could cook a roast dinner, just a small one nothing too big and only if you wanted too. I had scheduled an afternoon nap and watching the TV. I wanted to start our own Christmas tradition which we would repeat for many a year."

"Is an afternoon nap code for sex?" It made him feel good, that Mycroft was thinking about forever.

"Certainly not unless you wanted it. I am adult enough to say the word sex Gregory," he said in a prim voice.

Greg laughed, "So yes or no."

"Yes."

"Wimp, said Greg.

"For that slur, you can tell Sherlock his presence will be required at the dinner table plus it is his turn to take our parents to the theatre."

"Thank you, it'll be alright, you'll see."

They said their goodbyes and Mycroft sat quietly mentally reviewing his schedule leading up to Christmas, making changes and slotting new plans into the timetable. He said goodbye to his perfect Christmas, maybe next year he and Greg would be together, just the two of them.

"Anthea," said Mycroft at last. "Please contact my mother and arrange two tickets to London by train." He had work to do.

:::

Greg

Debbie, I was just ranging to discuss Christmas?

Yeah, I know I can't have them Christmas Day.

My parents are going to visit Catherine for Christmas so I thought I would take the kids to the grands in January.

If you need some help during the period, just contact me yeah.

Yeah I'm working.

I can still take the kids for a few days, just tell me the dates.

No I can't guarantee to be home

Yes, I'm living with Mycroft.

He's not like that D,

You left me, so don't dump this crap on me ok. If you want me to take the kids tell me but you're the one with automatic holidays when schools out.

"Shit," said Greg hanging up the phone. He really didn't get why Mycroft insisted in thinking his Christmas were so bloody perfect, it seemed to him every year was full of stress and arguments.

:::

Greg

"Look, I need help, your step-grands are turning up and I need someone to look after them."

"Who?" said Matthew.

"Mycroft's parents, they're coming to London for the holiday period and I can't take time off."

"What's it got to do with us?"

"I thought you could show them around, go to the theatre or something, take them shopping. They want to go the theatre, the Christmas markets and watch ice skating. You want to see Hogwarts in the snow don't you? It's not exactly my stuff is it?"

"Dad, we are a bit old for Hogwarts."

"Look they live in the country and have this weird idea about what Londoners do? I think they would be safer with someone a bit savvier around to stop them getting robbed blind. Just keep them busy."

"It's because they are old isn't it? Mikes parents are old and they want to do the same stuff. Boring."

It was like dealing with Sherlock, thought Greg. "I'll give you 5 quid a day each if you agree."

"Ok, five quid each plus transport. How long they here anyway?" said Matthew.

"A week but you probably don't have to spend every day with them." Greg spoke to his sons a bit more before hanging up the phone. Problem solved.

::::

Mycroft flicked through the personal mail, sorted it into separate piles and dropped four in front of Greg, bank, insurance bill for his stored flat contents. Mmm they needed to do something about that now the arrangement was becoming permanent. Maybe he should put the money into an account so if they separated Greg would not be financially disadvantaged. It would be best to schedule a lawyer in the New Year to discuss options. Two Christmas cards. Ah yes, this one should be exciting, he slid into the bottom of the pile.

Greg being Greg opened the bills first then moved on to the cards. Mycroft tried not to pay attention. "The Russian ambassador sent us a card. Why? I don't even know the man? There is something written in Russian," he handed the card across.

"Seasons greetings," translated Mycroft.

"Should I be concerned that he knows my name?"

"I would be more concerned if he didn't know your name."

"Does the card need to be checked for bugs or anything?

Mycroft gave him a very strange look.

"Right, OK carrying on." He picked up the second card and open the envelope. "I didn't know you could get pictures of Buckingham palace in the snow." He opened the card and started reading. "Holly shit." He turned the card over, read the back, picked up the envelope, and studied that too before opening the card again.

"Is there something wrong?" Asked Mycroft holding his glee inside.

"The Queen sent me a Christmas card, look." He thrust the card at Mycroft who took the card, studied the front then opened it up.

"It's a wonderful picture of the new baby," he said before handing it back.

"To Gregory from Elizabeth and Phillip."

"To Gregory and Mycroft," Mycroft stressed his own name, careful not to say he usually got one every year. "How very nice of her."

"But why?"

"I think it's only polite considering you sent her one first."

"When? Bloody hell, I thought that was a joke. It wasn't even a nice card, it was one of the multipack left overs."

"Greg if you are concerned I'm sure her secretary wrote the message. I don't think Her Majesty has the time to sign all her cards personally. She probably gets thousands of cards each year from her subjects."

"Right, good no need to panic then." Greg turned the card over in his hands. "The Queen sent me a Christmas card with my name on it. I think I'll go ring my parents, tell them the news. Mum's going to be right proud." He pulled out his mobile and snapped a picture of each side of the card and two of the baby before he walked from the room phone to his ear. "Hi mum, you won't believe who sent me a Christmas card."

Mycroft smiled, it had been so easy and yet it had meant so much to Greg. A card rescued by the housekeeper, a forgery by Anthea, a signature from himself and into the post to an address known by only a select few.


End file.
